


Love in the Time of Revolution

by tbossjenn



Category: Sons of Liberty (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-14 14:41:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3414494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tbossjenn/pseuds/tbossjenn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sam Adams doesn't know what he has until he loses it</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love in the Time of Revolution

The Philadelphia tavern was lively, a welcome change from the state house. John Hancock touched Sam’s arm.  “Get us a drink? You know what I like.”

Sam resisted the urge to lean in close to him.  They had to be careful in public. “Yes, of course.” With a gentle squeeze, John left to secure a table. Sam approached the bar and ordered two of John’s favorite ale.

“Fastidious as ever,” a voice next to him said. At Sam’s glance, the man added, “I mean John Hancock over there.”

“Yes, well… John is John,” Sam replied. “I’m Samuel Adams.”

“Bolivar Winters,” the man said. “I hear John’s been financing your activities in Boston.”

“We wouldn’t have accomplished so much without him.”

“All the same, you should watch yourself where he’s concerned.”

“What do you mean?”

“Six or seven years ago I was in Boston to finalize a business deal with John. Negotiations weren’t completely to his satisfaction, so he invited me to a private dinner. Very private. No servants, no one else in the house. Just the pair of us.”

“Where are you going with this, sir?”

“Some time after the stuffed quail, John was down on his knees for me. We both got something we wanted that night.” Winters smirked. “Don’t look so shocked, Mr. Adams. John’s a businessman, and a true businessman uses every asset, every angle to his advantage. I certainly wasn’t his first.”

The barkeep set two glasses of ale in front of Sam, who shakily dropped his coins on the counter. “What does that have to do with me or the congress?” he demanded.

“John Hancock is one of the most conniving, self-serving men I’ve ever met. He wouldn’t be involved in this little rebellion of yours if he didn’t see himself reaping a big reward at the end of it. And make no mistake, he’d throw you over in a second if it meant getting his fortune and position back.”

Someone was calling Sam’s name, and he saw that John had amassed a little group at their table. “I must be getting back to my party, Mr. Winters.”

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Adams,” Winters replied, tipping his hat. “And give John my regards.”

Sam took the drinks to the table, slamming them down. John didn’t notice as he was too busy laughing over somebody’s joke.

Sam thought of a night back at the house in Lexington. They were both fugitives hiding alone together. John had just finished telling him a story about going to England for the King’s coronation, and they talked about fear and dying. John had gone silent, looking at Sam with the strangest expression – like he was trying to make up his mind about something. Then he stood and walked over to where Sam sat sprawled by the fire. And John went down on his knees. He peered up, his eyes searching Sam’s face. Frozen as he was, Sam could only stare back. His breath hitched as John slid his hands up Sam’s thighs. And after that Sam could think of very little except for “good,” “don’t stop,” and the like.

Now their time together in that house felt like a lie.

“Sam, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It was a long day. I think I’ll retire to bed soon.”

John nudged him. “That’s a good idea. I won’t be far behind you.”

“Quiet!” Sam snapped. “You’re being inappropriate.”

John leaned away. “As you like.”

Later in the boardinghouse, Sam tensed when John put his arms around him. John backed away. “What is it? Obviously I’ve done something to offend you.”

“I met Bolivar Winters tonight.”

“Yes? So…?”

“He told me all about your whoring.”

John looked like he’d been struck, but he stayed composed. “I’ve done things I’m not proud of, but I am no whore.  And you’ve known all along you’re not the first man I’ve been with.”

“I thought you were my friend! I thought you were with me in the cause, in all things. I thought you _cared_ about me!”

“Sam, I do care for you…”

 “No you don’t. You’re only sleeping with me so I’ll keep you alive. Until something better comes along and you can throw me over.”

“Is that what Winters told you?”

“He didn’t tell anything I didn’t already know. You said it yourself. If the Crown offered you a better deal you would’ve taken it!”

“But when I said that…” John stammered. “I didn’t mean…”

“You made deals with Hutchinson. And you only worked with my smugglers to keep your pockets full. You don’t do anything if it’s not helping yourself. You fooled me into thinking you’ve changed but you haven’t!”

John’s face was tight, and he gave a curt nod. “I’ll remove to my own room since you find my presence so irksome. You’ll only have to see me at the congress.”  At the door, he paused long enough to say, “I slept with you because I wanted you. And I thought you wanted me.”

Then he was gone.

***

The next day at the state house, Sam noticed that John had arranged for Cousin John to sit between them.  Outwardly, John treated Sam just as smooth and politely as he did the other delegates. But all the same John was closed off, his face shuttered. More proof, then, that the whole affair had been a sham.

Not long ago Sam told John he had a sweet face. John’s reaction to that could only be described as mock-affronted.  Then John leaned over and kissed him. Sam was only too happy to pull John close and deepen it. They’d been lying in bed laughing over a small joke made at Cousin John’s expense, and John Hancock had the sweetest, most open face Sam had ever seen.

He shook himself. Dwelling on memories like that would only bring him further grief. Then he was handed a letter. The British had crushed the colonials at Bunker Hill. Beside him, Cousin John stood to address the Congress. Sam glimpsed John sitting on the other side of the table. John’s puzzled frown turned to dismay when Cousin John announced the news.

Of course John was dismayed. By siding with the rebels he’d gambled and lost everything. Even if that better offer did come along, John was already a traitor to the Crown. He would hang along with the rest of them.

Sam left the room moments after General Washington’s own dramatic departure. Later he was surprised to see John in the stable, just as Sam was about to leave.

 “What are you doing?” John demanded.

“I’m going somewhere I can be useful.”

“You can be useful here.”

“Nothing’s happening here. We’ve been at this for weeks.”

“No. Your cousin. Mr. Franklin. Me. _We_ have been at it. _You_ have been no help _at all_. Can you deny it? Have you done anything to convince these men…”

“These men,” Sam snorted. “These men are terrified. They’re all just in it for it themselves. They all want something.”

“Yes, they do. But _you_ do not. I didn’t understand at first but now I do. All you want is for things to be _fair_. For _everyone_. If you leave, everyone else will leave. You have to stay and convince them. You have convinced _me_. A man with _everything_ to lose.”  John took a shaky breath. “I know you don’t believe me. I know what you really think of my character. But look at me. _Look at me_. I am broke.” John tossed him a silver coin. “This is all I have left.”

It was one of the tokens they’d used during their smuggling days.

“Sam, this isn’t about you and me. I’m not asking you to stay for me, or even in spite of me.  You’re the only one here with no agenda. You’re the only one who can make these men hear the truth.”

Sam mounted his horse and rode away. “Good luck.”

He cantered away from Philadelphia, following the road up into the woods towards New England. But it was the men back at that meeting house he was thinking of. How quickly would the entire thing fall apart without their support? Could he really make any difference in convincing them?

John seemed to think so. And John was not an imbecile. He was the smartest man Sam knew.  Sam slowed his horse, finally coming to a halt. He looked up into the sky.

He remembered when John shot that redcoat in the woods when they’d gone after Paul Revere. It happened so fast, and afterward there was a dazed look on John’s face. He just stood there, looking frightened. He only came back to himself when Sam touched his hand. John was no killer, that much was certain. But he had killed a man to save Sam’s life.

Sam wanted to take action. He wanted to make a real difference in what was happening. And he realized he’d made a terrible mistake.

So he turned around and rode back to Philadelphia.

***

Cousin John was relieved to see him. Mr. Franklin offered a sardonic, “Glad you’re back.” And John gave him a small half smile. Sam longed to speak to him, but they had business to see to. The four of them settled down to devise a strategy for winning over South Carolina and the rest of the house. Throughout the meeting Sam kept sneaking glances at John, who must have noticed but made no sign of it.

It was well past midnight when they broke for the evening. Upon reaching the boardinghouse, Sam drew John aside. “Can I speak to you in private?”

 John didn’t look at him. “I’d rather not.”

“Please, I need to apologize for the other night. I was wrong.”

“About which part?”

“All of it. I believed the word of a stranger over my dearest friend. It’s inexcusable.”

 “I appreciate your apology.”

“I was hoping we could…”

“We can’t go back to the way things were. Please don’t ask me.” He left Sam and went into the house. Sam could nothing but stare after him.

In the weeks that followed, they worked with Mr. Franklin and Cousin John to slowly woo the other delegates to their cause. John Hancock worked harder than any of them. And what a charming devil he was. The delegates were no match for those winning smiles and friendly manners, especially when coupled with Sam’s own passionate ideals. Sam was no statesman. By himself he couldn’t have convinced them. But with John at his side, he knew exactly what to say.

Yet when they were not conducting business for the congress, John avoided him. Sam missed John terribly, and seeing him every day just made it worse. To have John right in front of him yet impossibly out of reach. And all because of Sam’s own hotheaded stupidity – a fault for which Cousin John had called him on again and again. Still, Sam and John maintained an uneasy truce and tried to keep the strain in their friendship from showing.

Of course, Cousin John noticed the change almost immediately.

“What’s the matter with you and Hancock?”

“What do you mean?” Sam replied.

“You were close friends and now you’re barely speaking. What happened?”

“Nothing. We had an argument.”

Cousin John snorted. “An argument of your own making, I suspect.”

“I said some terrible things to him,” Sam said. “I apologized, but he hasn’t forgiven me.”

“ _John Hancock_? He forgives you everything.”

“I think you’re mistaking John for yourself.”

“No, even I was never as bad as him.”

“You’re right.” Sam sighed. “It’s just that I hurt him badly and I don’t know how to fix it.”

Cousin John studied his face. “This is really bothering you.”

“Of course it is! He’s done everything we asked, and I told him he’d betray me if given half a chance.”

“You mean, betray _us_.”

Sam frowned. “What did I say?”

“You said he’d betray _you_.”

“Oh.”

Cousin John put a comforting hand on Sam’s shoulder.  “Time heals all wounds. Isn’t that what Mr. Franklin says?”

“If not him, then somebody else.”

“Will this affect your work?”

“It hasn’t so far.”

“Good.”

If Cousin John suspected the true nature of Sam’s friendship with John, he didn’t say. Sam was just beginning to understand it himself. He had thought of them as friends who just happened to be intensely attracted to each other. Yet Sam missed John for far more than just his body.

He missed John’s wit; his calm manner that instantly put everyone at ease. John was a foppish snob, but in the best, most endearing sense. He treated everyone with polite appreciation, whether they were sitting in a fine carriage or the muddiest gutter. He never looked down his nose at Sam’s friends, even when he’d been parading around in those powdered wigs.

Sam hadn’t experienced a truly romantic relationship since Elizabeth died. Whenever Sam made her angry, which was often, he’d bring her home flowers or some pretty ribbons. It usually helped to smooth things over with her. Somehow Sam didn’t think these would work with John. Well, maybe the ribbons would.

At any rate, John already said he did not want Sam’s attentions. Any overtures on Sam’s part wouldn’t be welcome and was more likely to drive John away. So Sam could do nothing but endure and hope they wrested a unanimous vote from the congress before he went insane from pining over John Hancock. Then he could go join the militia and distract himself by shooting redcoats.

***

John Hancock peered into the assembly room, and then turned to Sam. “That is a fine suit, Mr. Adams. We have a full house. You just need to tell them the truth. Are you ready?”

There were so many things Sam wished he could say to him. But instead he answered, “It’s now or never. “

John threw open the doors and strolled into the room, flourishing his walking stick as he went. Sam followed, stifling a smile. He was recalling the time John had tried to teach him a dance. John had been all grace while Sam was stiff flailing limbs. Eventually John gave up and took Sam to bed. Damn it all, would he ever stop thinking of that house in Lexington?

Sam addressed the assembly in a final appeal for independence. When his speech was over, he couldn’t remember exactly what he had said but knew he couldn’t have done it without John’s presence just behind him. And apparently he said the right thing, because in the end they got the votes. Sam himself gave the final ‘Aye,’ and John passed the resolution. For the first time in a long while, John smiled at him. A real, warm smile.

When it came time to sign the Declaration, Sam picked up the quill. But there was only one person who deserved to sign first. “John?” John was surprised and pleased. He came over to Sam, who handed him the quill. “Here, you earned this.”

John sat down, quill poised above the parchment. Then he began to sign.

Watching him, Sam furrowed his brow. “Sure you wrote it big enough?”

John looked up. “Yes, well, old King George should be able to see that.”

Sam could only smile back. It was pure John Hancock.

Later than night Sam was in his room, fiddling with John’s silver token. He was faced with a horrible problem. The thing he’d been working for all this time – a union of the colonies – had finally happened. He was free to go back to Boston. But now all he could think of was that he no longer had any legitimate reason to be in the same room as John. Even though John was only civil with him now, Sam craved his company all the same. And when Sam left Philadelphia, he may never see John again.

There was a soft knock, and Sam got up with a sigh. “I already told you, Cousin, I’m too tired to attend Mr. Franklin’s soiree.” He opened the door and found John Hancock standing there.

“I didn’t want to go either. I’m not convinced Mr. Franklin always invites the most…cleanliest…of guests to his home.”

Sam gave a nervous laugh. “Yes, I was thinking that too. Though I’d never say it to his face.”

“You were about to retire. I’ll come back another time.”

“No! I mean, come in. Please.” John took one of the chairs by the desk, and Sam took the other.

“Exciting day, wasn’t it?” John said finally.

“It still feels like a dream. I’m afraid when I wake up tomorrow we’ll be still trying to convince South Carolina all over again.”

John cuffed him gently on the arm. “God forbid!” He looked at Sam fondly, and said, “Thank you for letting me sign first.”

“I didn’t _let_ you do anything. It was your right.”

“What do you mean? All this started with you. This is your vision.”

“I’m no visionary. It’s like you said, I just want things to be fair. You’re the one who really worked at bringing everyone together.”

“I did no more than my fair share.” John was looking at him expectantly.

Sam ran a hand through his hair and said, “All right. I asked you to sign first because I wanted you to know how important you are to… to the cause. How dedicated and brave you are, and…” He trailed off, looking down at his hands. “I’m sorry for what I said. I’ve never been more sorry about anything in my life. I wish to God I could take it back.”

John reached over and took his hand. “I know.” At Sam’s startled glance, he said, “Remember what I told you about old George’s coronation? The gold and the opulence? Absolutely _pales_ in comparison to what you gave me today.” Then he leaned forward and gently kissed Sam on the lips.

The kiss was sweet and uncertain, as if John had no idea if he’d still be welcome. Perhaps he really didn’t know. In all these weeks Sam had followed John’s example on how they should behave around one another. John was about to pull away, and Sam could feel his disappointment. He threaded his fingers through John’s hair and surged forward to kiss him back. It was even better than he remembered, and before he realized it John was in his lap.

“Oh, my dearest, I missed you,” John said, stroking Sam’s face.

Sam pressed close to him. “I’m so sorry, Johnny…”

“It’s all right. I forgive you. “

“Too forgiving.”

“Fortunately for you, I could never resist a grand symbolic gesture. Or a man in a fine suit.”

Sam laughed, fumbling with John’s cravat.

“How did you manage to find that suit?” John asked, smacking Sam’s hands away and untying the cravat himself. “Your cousin must have bought it for you. I know you didn’t bother to go shopping on your own.” The cravat slipped to the floor, and John sighed as Sam’s lips caressed his throat.

“You don’t actually want to discuss my shopping habits, do you?”

“No. Not really.” John unbuttoned Sam’s breeches and snaked his hand inside.

“Oh God, Johnny…” Sam arched against him. John leaned forward and drew him into a fierce kiss. During sex, John could go from mild mannered conversationalist to ferocious bobcat in the blink of an eye.

“Take off your shirt,” John whispered into his ear. Sam yanked it off and flung it away. With his free hand John traced his fingers down Sam’s bare chest. “So lovely.”  He replaced his fingers with his mouth.

John was working him just the way Sam loved, but it was too much too soon. “No, wait… _God_ … I’m not going to last long,” Sam panted. “Not if you keep on the way you are.”

“That’s the point, my dear. There’s nothing I love more in this world than having you like this.” He changed his grip, and Sam gasped and rutted against him.

Sam could feel how hard John was, and he ached to touch him. But John was still all buttoned up, minus the cravat. And Sam was pinned to that chair. Not because John was holding him down, but because of the silent promise between them that he would let John have his way with him, and John in return would give Sam anything and everything he wanted. So it always was between the two of them.

Sam’s pleasure spiked; and he jerked against his lover with a startled groan. John held him through it, and planted a kiss on his cheek when Sam finally went still.

After a long moment, John said, “I want to commission a portrait of you, just like you are now.”

“That’d certainly cause a scandal.”

“Oh, no. No one would see this painting but me.”

“What about the artist?”

“You’re right, that won’t do. I’ll just have to learn how to paint it myself.”

Sam rested his head against John’s shoulder. “I love you.” He wondered how he could possibly have ever mistaken it for anything else.

“I love you, too,” John said, his voice full of emotion. And then he whispered, “Come to bed with me, Mr. Adams.”

 

The end

 


End file.
